Chapter 21
George was almost at the end of his tether.
Forced to walk into the theatre with Cecelia upon his arm, he gritted his teeth against the urge to grip her hand firmly on his arm, against the urge to hold onto her for however long he possibly could.
With Walter and Mary at their back, it felt all the harder, and he had no way of knowing if he was going to be able to make it through the first act, let alone an entire production.
The small talk in the foyer, smiling and talking of the weather, was a grating experience for George, made even more unbearable by the many eyes that lingered a moment too long upon the woman at his side.
He watched. He anticipated. He saw enemies at every glance. Yet, he forced himself not to react, forced himself not to grab Cecelia and run for the hills.
When, finally, they made it to his box, even the perfect view of the stage would not dampen the turmoil within him.
Though they left much of the chatter behind the closed door, Walter and Mary were clearly content to continue their quiet mutterings whilst he and Cecelia sat in stony silence.
The way she stared out through her binoculars, never once glancing in his direction, made his skin crawl with cold.
If anyone had asked him about the performance, he would not have been able to utter a word.
And his pain only grew when, only minutes into Act One, there was a gentle knock upon the door.
With a clenched jaw, he nodded for a staff member to open the door.
Silence fell within the box as everyone, including Cecelia, turned to see who the latecomer might be.
For only a second, George wondered whether Elizabeth might have joined them, though she had insisted she had plans elsewhere.
And when George caught sight of the gentleman at the door, his insides twisted so violently he almost jumped up from his seat.
“James!”
A chill ran the length of George's spine.
The way Cecelia lit up to see the man made him nauseous.
How she spoke his name was even more unbearable.
The grandeur of the evening, the candlelight, and quiet hum of the theatre were lost on George as Lord Greystone entered the box.
The way Cecelia's eyes sparkled at him made every muscle in George's body clench up.
“I do hope I am not imposing, but I caught your maid outside, and she told me you would be here,” the nobleman said.
George opened his mouth to say that indeed, he was – and uninvited – but before he could do so, Cecelia said, “Of course not!”
She gestured him in with a sweep of her gloved hand and waved to the empty seat beside her. “Please, join us.”
Join you, George thought bitterly.
Lord Greystone at least had the good grace to acknowledge him with a bow of his head before taking the seat she had offered.
George's hands gripped too tightly to the arms of his seat, so tightly, in fact, that the tips of his fingers began to feel numb.
“It’s wonderful of you to join us,” Cecelia said, her tone low as if she were trying not to disturb the lovers at the far end of the box who had been sat in quiet intimacy all the while.
If they noticed, they did not show it as Walter leaned over and whispered something into the younger sister's ear.
George had never envied his friend. In fact, he had always been happy for his many triumphs, but this was almost too much.
If only such closeness had come easily to him also.
Instead, he sat in painful silence as the love birds twittered and Cecelia and Lord Greystone fell into a similar dance of watching the production and whispering quiet comments.
By the time intermission came, George was practically halfway out of his seat.
The air in the box felt heavy, his muscles so tight he thought he might actually do himself some damage, and it took all he had in him not to rush from the box.
Instead, he forced himself to watch Mary and Walter, and Cecelia and Lord Greystone, walk from the box arm in arm before he slipped into the hall himself.
At a leisurely pace, he followed them all to the foyer where the audience gathered for a break, several disappearing to refresh themselves whilst others stood with their usual chatter and gossip.
Every muscle in George was tensed to flee, but he could not bring himself to do so, not whilst he was Cecelia's chaperone. Whether she wanted him, whether she needed him or not, he would be there.
He would not have it said he had failed in his duties. Nor would he have the ton's scrutiny fall upon her.
He watched her still, from the corner of the room, though every moment of it was pure torture.
The way she laughed, the way she fluttered her lashes, and the way she placed her hand gently upon Lord Greystone's forearm. It was all painful.
Why had she never looked at him that way? Perhaps she had, though he had never allowed himself to see it. And now, it was far too late to go back.
“Are you quite well?”
Walter's voice made him jump.
He had been so intent upon his torturer that he hadn't even noticed his friend approaching. In fact, he barely saw him now, standing beside him, as he continued to watch the happy couple.
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Why do you not speak with her?” Walter asked, and the hair on the back of George's neck stood on end.
“What is there to say?”
Too much, he thought grimly. Too much, too late.
How could he do that to her now? After all these years of failing to see the truth of his feelings, the truth behind the grudge he had held so close to his heart.
He remembered all too well her sheer shock at his revelation. He remembered how she had comforted him, how she had been beside herself, how he had kissed her. And he felt the heat drain from his face.
“Tell her how you feel,” Walter encouraged, and George scoffed. If only it were so simple.
How was she ever to believe him after all that had happened?
George knew Cecelia well enough to be sure she would accuse him of doing anything he could just to see her away from Lord Greystone. And in truth, he suspected that in part, she was right.
But just seeing her smile, seeing the happiness on her face, he couldn't bring himself to do so.
Forced to sit through the rest of the performance with Lord Greystone in tow, George thought several times of leaving early.
Only his duty kept him there.
And by the end, he was beyond reason.
“Lady Cecelia, might I have a moment of your time?” he asked as they were exiting the box. He longed to reach for her, to pull her from Lord Greystone and hold onto her for all he was worth.
She looked back at him with a furrowed brow. “Can it wait until the morning? I am quite exhausted.”
George shook his head. “I shall not be in attendance in the morning.”
Cecelia's expression fell, and she turned to whisper something to Lord Greystone, no doubt assuring him she would follow on to the foyer.
George gritted his teeth and waited for the others to leave, noting Walter's look of hope. He cringed, knowing what he was about to do was quite the opposite of his friend's wishful thinking.
“Is something the matter?” Cecelia asked when they were alone, the door of the box left open for propriety's sake.
The urge to close it, to close them off from the world, and keep her there was almost unbearable.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, George glanced at his feet.
“I wish to tell you that my time as your chaperone has ended,” he said, barely able to look her in the eye for a second before he dropped his gaze again.
“I beg your pardon?” she exclaimed, and George's eyes flew to hers.
The shock he found there was like a knife to his gut.
“I can see you have no more need of me,” he added, and Cecelia started to shake her head.
“That isn't true,” she insisted. “The Season is still—”
George cut her off. “I can see that your intentions towards Lord Greystone have not changed.”
“George, if you are about to tell me some other rumour you have heard about him, then I do not wish to hear it.”
George met her gaze then, his jaw so tight that it made his entire face hurt.
“And that is exactly why you have no more need of me,” George said, his entire body urging him to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she saw sense.
“What about your promise to see my father's wish fulfilled?”
“Do you believe Lord Greystone will not propose?” George countered. “He would be a fool not to, and as it seems I cannot make you see reason, what other need have you of me?”
At that, Cecelia blushed.
“I am not married yet,” she pointed out, and George's insides twisted.
“I fear the time is close at hand when you shall be,” George admitted, and Cecelia appeared stunned. “I have tried to warn you, and you have not listened to a word I have said in regard to your choice.”
“This isn't about my choice!” Cecelia snapped at him. “This is about you! Why do you not wish me to be married? Do you not wish me to be happy?”
The thought of her marrying a man like Lord Greystone, of her marrying any man, for that matter, made him feel quite nauseous.
He had to put himself first for once. The pain of this evening had told him just how unbearable it would be to watch from the shadows as she fell into happiness with someone else.
“Do you think you shall be happy with Lord Greystone?” George blurted.
Cecelia's face paled, and for a second, George dared to hope he might actually get through to her.
“You can't just quit,” Cecelia continued as if she wished to change the subject. “Mother is expecting you to escort me to several more balls before the Season is over.”
“I am quite certain your mother would agree you have done a fine job of securing yourself a match. Lord Greystone did not take his eyes off you all evening.”
The romantic tension between the pair still played upon his mind now. No matter how he tried to stop thinking of it, it returned to him.
“Besides, how am I to be your chaperone if you will not heed my advice?”
Cecelia stared at him, her cheeks flushed.
“There is a difference between advice and demanding that I follow orders, George!”